Flaneur
by tofu-melon
Summary: /Apollo-centric/ A broken, bloodied orphan boy who only wishes for a life of business suits and briefcases and a purpose for his every tortuous life. And one Defense attorney willing to lend him a hand.


**Flaneur**

The city was too hot. There were too many people walking in the streets instead of riding buses or cars, and everyone's elbows and sides hit each other all the time. Apollo hated that.

He hated it most when he was holding a tender bruise on his ribs and he needed to run from the shouting and the threats of the broad-shouldered, bat-wielding delinquents behind him. He hated this tight, suffocating atmospheres and all the jabbing elbows and the rough suits that were always rubbing and irritating his small wounds and scabs.

He wasn't hurting much, he was sure the other punks were much worse then himself... but still...

Squeezing his way out between a pair of particularly hefty figures, Apollo stumbled over to the shadow of a small building, collapsing against the cool white wall with a grunt. He sat there, a hand covering his sore side and blood dripping from the scratch on his face and his nose. He was sure he made a poor sight to all those hasty people in their sharp suits and their "places to go, people to see" living.

He wanted to be just like them someday.

Apollo swallowed, trying to moisten his dry mouth and he pressed his knees tighter against his chest. He wanted to wear a suit and hold a briefcase filled with important documents. He wanted his wrist to bear an expensive and heavy watch that told him dates and times.

He wanted to become an adult that could proudly walk amongst this rushing, one-way people without having to cover his wounds, his blood, and his shame.

He wanted... he wanted... _he wanted_...

"Hey. Are you okay?"

Apollo flinched at the voice and his neck snapped up.

A man towered over him with a small frown and a crease between his brows. His face was shadowed, but Apollo could see the strong jaw, pursed lips, and deep-set eyes that looked at him with a soft gaze. The man was wearing a suit... and he was holding a briefcase... and on his collar was a golden badge and flashed importantly off the slight sunlight that peeked over his shoulder.

Apollo let out a heavy breath and picked himself up. His fingers were beginning to tremble as he looked this man up and down. He was a tall man and his shoulders were straight and strong. He was presenting himself to Apollo, a complete stranger to the man, so proudly it made Apollo burn with a sort of jealous flame. It was this man, decked in his suit and badge, that saw him when he was crumbled and bleeding and _wanting_.

"How!" he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth as he grabbed the front of the man's suit and shook him. The man reeled back in surprise and his eyes grew round. Apollo ignored him and pulled the man in. He could feel the other's breath on his forehead and the ominous gulping was audible to him, "How can I be...!" Apollo near snarled out his words, his hands couldn't rest. They kept shaking and trembling and throwing the man around like a rag-doll, "How can I be successful like you?!"

"Ah-ah-ah..." the man tried to speak, but his teeth only clicked while he head rocked back and forth uncontrollably. Apollo released him at once and stepped down, panting and gasping for breath. He ignored the tickling trickle of blood that ran down the side of his face.

The man fell back and coughed into his hands and ran a hand down his front, making sure there was no lasting wrinkles. Apollo winced at the movement and looked away.

"Ah..." the man started to say, but realized he didn't know what to say to this obviously broken boy, covered in blood and wounds.

Apollo didn't expect him to say anything. They were, after all, on different pegs of the social ladder. No man worth his money would even _want _to speak to insignificant trash like hi—

"Um. Excuse me, will you take this?"

Narrowed and suspicious eyes looked cautiously at the serene expression on the man's face, then at the handkerchief in his hand (it was, surprisingly, a light pink shade with a strange green comma, embroidered in the corner).

Apollo took it hesitantly and held it in his hand. Did he really look so terrible that this man lent him his handkerchief to wipe away the blood?

"Because," the man spoke up, a frown forming on his face now and his eyes widened, becoming a picture of sincerity, "Because... you looked like... you were going to cry."

_Clench._

'_Ah_.'

"Um... um, if you were attacked... I'd be happy to help you out. I'm a lawyer so I know a few people that could help you out if you want to file charges..."

"A lawyer?"

The man nodded, his face brightening with the wide smile on his lips, and he pointed proudly towards the golden badge on the collar of his suit, "Yep! A defense attorney! Phoenix Wright, Attorney-at-Law, at your service!"

'_... a defense...'_

"Ah," Wright smiled sheepishly and laughed, "I guess not really at your service because I can't help you out unless you killed someone or something like that."

"Is that what defense attorneys do?"

"Yeah, they protect the innocent from being accused of a crime they didn't commit."

Apollo frowned, his brows furrowing and the bleeding scratch on his temple opening wider, "How do you know?" he asked, "How do you know if they are really innocent? What if they're lying! Because no one wants to be sent to jail!"

_'Because everyone lies_.'

"Ah... I guess..." Wright looked to the sky thoughtfully, rubbing his smooth chin with the pad of his thumb, "I don't really know. All I need to know, as a defense attorney, is how to trust my clients and give it my all for them."

'_... trust... absolute trust in people accused as murderers..._'

This man was different from all the other faceless suits. He was smiling and strong and lived with a _purpose_. Apollo gulped. He wanted to become like this man.

Apollo wringed the handkerchief in his hands and looked up at Wright nervously, "Ah, um... th-thanks for the..." he gestured towards the pink cloth and the other man smiled, nodding his head, "You're welcome."

Apollo left with the handkerchief in his hand, damp with the sweat from his palms and colored by the dirt under his fingers.

He held the handkerchief for six years.

* * *

"Polly, is this your's?" Trucy held up a square, pink cloth in her hands. It was dirty and creased all over and seemed to have seen better days, "You have pretty girly stuff, huh?"

Apollo flushed darkly and snatched it out of the girl's hand with a frown, "Thank you _very_ much for returning it without a word, Trucy," he thanked her sarcastically through grinding teeth. The little magician just laughed and turned around, flying into her father's open arms, "Daddy, guess what Polly likes to keep around!"

"Hm?"

"A little pink handkerchief. It's probably from a girlfriend, huh?"

"It's not—!!" Apollo shouted, Chords of Steel at work, but he silenced at once when he caught Phoenix's inquisitive blue eyes looking at the handkerchief wrapped in Apollo's hand in wonder. Apollo paused as well, his face heating up and he fidgeted nervously.

"... it's a very pretty handkerchief, Apollo," the pianist said at last, a knowing smile spread across his face and a slight twinkle of faint fondness in his eyes, "A big story behind it, huh?"

And Apollo relaxed, a bright smile spreading across his face. This was the man who saved him, huh? Unshaved stubble, worn jacket, and an unmatching bright blue hat with a ridiculous pin, "Like you wouldn't believe, Mr. Wright."

And someday the day will come when Apollo would return the favor, and give him back his little pink handkerchief.

-END-

Puu. First PW/AJ fanfic and it turns out to be some mushy, gushy Nicky+Apollo hero-who-saved-my-life interaction, huh? Boring. I'm gonna write a Miles/Nick, next, fo'sho!


End file.
